So I go to this naturopathic gynecologist last february who looks at my chart and says: 'You were born on the exact same day as my son. Same year and everything. And it says here that you are a writer. My son is a playwright. Maybe you know him?'

Nope.

Looking at me closely he says, "You know, I have this feeling about you and my son. I think you would make a good match. Do you mind if I give him your number?"
Yes. please don't

"Well, take his, at least." He passes me a perscription sheet with his son's number on it.
Um, I think your son would be mortified if he knew you were trying to set him up with a patient. And besides, we should be talking about my ovaries, not your son! (in spite of myself, I start laughing.)

"But your ovaries could be part of my son's future!"

This was weird, but so incredible and funny that I told all my friends. That summer I met the son in question. And told him the story. And he asked me to see a play in the park. So I did. And he was unspeakably lovely.

This is the official story.

Everytime I see his dad, I wonder about the other stuff I put on my chart. Phrases like "single and sexually active."